


A Theater

by Cheeto_the_Cat



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dream Smp, Gen, Origin Stories, Schlatt and Wilbur my beloved, Talent Show Shenanigans, smp live - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 21:27:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30112275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheeto_the_Cat/pseuds/Cheeto_the_Cat
Summary: SMP Live holds a talent show. Two people, who will eventually hate each other, betray each other, and die together, meet.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Jschlatt
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	A Theater

Fine. You guys wanna know how Schlatt and Wilbur met? 

They were on the same server for a while. An old server. Legendary- to some maybe, though none of the members would go so far as to call it that, it was just as fucked up as any other, really, I mean-

but anyways, they were on the same server. Interacted a few time, I guess, nothing of note. Schlatt with his clean suits and Wilbur with that giant, dark jean jacket he wore like a cloak around his shoulders. It was a busy server- I mean- you can’t fault them for not seeing too much of each other, really.

but anyways.

There was a talent show. Thrown together, to be honest, no one expecting much. Most of the acts were forgettable- just friends laughing to themselves in a dimly lit theater, but the atmosphere could be described as ‘enjoyable’, if you asked Schlatt. Nothing of note.

There was a talent show, an exaggeration in both words, until this _kid_ gets up on stage, clutching his guitar like it’s all he has.

And his hair is falling into his eyes and he’s ditched the jacket for once and fine maybe Schlatt sits up a little straighter in his seat, because, hey, this one seems different.

So the kid, _Wilbur_ , introduces himself, and sits awkwardly on a stool. Crosses his legs. Uncrosses them.

He stumbles out an introduction, trying for a joke about how uncomfortable it all is. The accent is noticeable, palpable. Schlatt stares at him, nodding, almost imperceptibly; hoping, that he continues on. _Come on, kid. You’ve got this._

As though spurred on by his thoughts alone, Wilbur picks up his guitar, and starts to play.

I’ll let you imagine the song. It doesn’t really matter, anyways. Schlatt couldn’t tell you the words.

What matters is how Wilbur’s brow unfurrows as he relaxes into the music, how his posture softens. He’s looking down at his instrument, but Schlatt’s looking at him, because, _hey, this kid is good._

Heads are looking up now, turning to listen. To watch.

_He’s really good._

And- to be fair- gears are turning in Schlatts head. I mean, this guy is marketable, surely, with the hair and the talent. He could make a fortune.

But another part of him is just, well, watching. Enamored. Marveled by how his fingers run over the guitar with ease, trying to commit the picture of it all to memory- the horrible lighting, the shoddy stage, and the singer in the middle of it all.

The song ends. 

Wilbur looks up to see everyone standing, caught by surprise as applause starts up. And, _oh what the hell_ , Schlatt’s standing too, whistling over it all. 

Wilbur stumbles off the stage, blushing violently, walking quickly to his seat. Simultaneously, Schlatt remembers that _fuck_ , it’s his turn, and _how is he supposed to follow that_. 

Schlatt walks up to the stage, consciously slowing his steps, keeping them even, confident. He brushes non-existent dust off his jacket, and steps up to the microphone. 

He introduces himself, looking out over the crowd, now much more awake. He pulls out his notecards. Tells a few jokes.

Well, half-jokes. Set ups or punchlines only, leaving open air for the laughter to punctuate. He knew it would be a hit.

But, all of the response is ignored in favor of watching the kid, in the back. Gauging his laughter, they way he doubles over, covering his face with his hands.

Schlatt adds a joke, just for him. Stares him down.

_Is he just- is he just looking at me?_

The accent is noticeable.

Schlatt blinks, shakes his head a bit, and continues on. Wilbur keeps laughing.

His act ends, and thus concludes the talent show. It’s almost unanimously decided that the kid won, despite his protests to the contrary. 

People slowly filter out, talking amongst themselves. This Wilbur kid will be the talk of the town.

The dim lights go out in the theater as Schlatt swings his legs over the edge of the stage, resolving to sit there in silence for a while.

Footsteps bound and echo through the empty building. 

An accented voice rings out over them, and Schlatt looks up, _again,_ to see Wilbur, in the dark, jacket thrown over shoulder, clutching his guitar case, jogging down the rows of seats. He swings himself up onto the stage, dangling his legs, and looks over at Schlatt.

_Hey- um, got any more jokes?_

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is just a quick little fic I did after Schlatt implying he knew Wilbur from before the Dream SMP, other works are still in progress. Also, I have a tumblr now @thespoonisvictory, go bother me on there if you want!
> 
> Leave a kudos and comment if you enjoyed <3 I love to respond to them!


End file.
